


Noble Hearts

by girlfromcarolina



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Don't copy to another site, Drama & Romance, M/M, Reunions, Separations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-07-08 06:01:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19864681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlfromcarolina/pseuds/girlfromcarolina
Summary: After years in the Halls of Justice, Rafael Barba has finally achieved a seat on the king's council. He keeps to himself, content with his work, until the day the king's elite soldiers—the 16th Cavalry—unexpectedly return to the city and throw his ordered life into chaos.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rating will no doubt increase in later chapters, and tags will be added accordingly.

“Tell me again why I need to be here.”

Olivia Benson, High Councilor of the Kingdom of York, smiles in a way that concerns Rafael Barba. “You’re on the Council now. That comes with certain obligations.”

“I was appointed to oversee the magistrates, not to stand and watch military _parades_ in the summer heat,” Barba scoffs, gaze sweeping over the procession below. Too much pomp, not enough circumstance. “I should be in my chambers, working.”

“It’s a welcome procession,” Benson points out unhelpfully, “and it’s your job to be here.”

Hearing it doesn’t make it easier for Barba to stand still and appear interested in the proceedings. All of this nonsense to greet a pair of diplomats from the Kingdom of Hudson across the strait, here to discuss defense strategies. Certainly not Barba’s area of expertise. He prefers domestic matters over foreign. Leave the treaties and war games to the likes of Benson and General Dodds, the king’s oldest son.

To make matters worse, it’s lunchtime, and Barba could be inside the stone walls where it’s quiet and cool, enjoying something scrumptious from the kitchens while he works to reform the courts in peace.

Benson is soon caught up in conversation with Councilor Tutuola (the man looks as ill at ease with all the ceremony as Barba feels), leaving Barba free to study the procession. If his attendance is mandatory, the least he can do is gather information that might prove useful later on.

He’s surprised to see three coaches making their way towards the center of the city, each flanked by uniformed riders, rather than a pair. As far as he knew, they were only expecting two diplomats and their advisors.

“Expecting someone else?” he asks the High Councilor.

“I might have heard a rumor that Buchanan was sending someone to speak with the council on a private matter,” Benson tells him, “but I don’t know who he dispatched in his stead.”

That should be cause for concern—Barba’s not fond of surprises—but he’s distracted by the ripple of a blue and gold banner in the distance. It must be a trick of the light, a flash reflected off a suit of armor. As the procession moves closer, however, the banner comes into focus, along with the column of soldiers who march beneath it.

Barba gasps. “The 16th Cavalry?”

“General Dodds recalled them to the city when he returned from the border.” Benson explains, catching the bewilderment on his face. “They served as escorts for the diplomatic party. It’s beneath them, I agree, but they were eager to return home, no matter the circumstances.”

Under the High Councilor’s assessing gaze, Barba composes himself, refusing to give anything away in his expression. “I thought their service would keep them at the border for at least another year.”

It is Tutuola who answers. The other councilor always seems to have a reliable source of information. “They finally brought the men responsible for the illegal slave trade to justice. The general offered an early return as a reward for their service.”

“How noble of him,” Barba comments, bearing in mind that he’s speaking about their prince. “Won’t that leave the border relatively unprotected?”

“The 8th rode out to replace them two mornings ago,” Benson says, reminding Barba of something he had heard in passing and quickly dismissed as irrelevant. “I thought military matters weren’t your concern.”

Barba frowns, burdened with more than one affair at the moment. “But criminal matters are. If they’ve truly uprooted the organization responsible for the abhorrent black-market trade, I’ll need to speak with them. These men should be tried here in the city to set a precedent that such crimes will not be taken lightly.”

Benson smiles. “I’ll leave that in your capable hands, Rafael.”

Barba hopes the others take his silence as contemplation of his duties, when in fact his mind is reeling. Keeping his gaze on the procession, he attempts to remain calm in the face of this unexpected upheaval.

The 16th Cavalry was made up of the king’s most elite soldiers. Chosen for more than simple brute strength, members of the 16th were cunning, courageous, and expertly trained in languages, espionage, and combat. They served at the borders where tensions grew thicker and peril more likely, accepting lengthy commissions and complex assignments that kept them away from home for years at a time. If they survived their service, the men and women of the 16th were rewarded with land and generous pensions if they wished to retire.

The exploits and maneuvers of the 16th were often discussed in the drinking halls and city markets, stories turned into fables as the years went on. People gossiped and fawned, fascinated with the king’s finest soldiers, who were amongst the most sought-after matches in the entire kingdom outside of royalty.

Barba did not find any of it to be remotely romantic.

Below, the procession turns and the gold shields of the 16th disappear from view. His obligation fulfilled, Barba rushes from the balcony into the safety of the shadows. This is certainly not how he expected the day to unfold.

He dispatches two messages with the first attendant he comes across before hurrying towards the quiet calm of his office. The silence is anything but peaceful on this afternoon, however, as the sound of the procession moving within the palace gates seems to carry through the stone walls. These chambers have served as his refuge for six months—Barba spent years climbing to get to this very place—yet he wishes to be as far from here as possible right now. His thoughts are in disarray and his chest is bruised where his heart pounds against it.

Barba is pouring himself a drink to steady his nerves when there’s a knock at his door.

“Councilor Barba,” the attendant begins when bid to enter, “your presence has been requested in the guest hall.”

“By whom?”

“The special envoy from Hudson, sir.”

Though Barba draws a blank on why the envoy would ask for him—diplomacy and wordplay are the last thing on his mind—he’s eager to uncover the mystery of the additional coach. Waving the attendant on her way, Barba gathers himself, straightening his jacket and ensuring that not a hair on his head is out of place. He winds his way to the receiving hall that leads to the guest quarters, where another attendant opens the doors to reveal a familiar, yet unexpected face.

“Rafael Barba, look how high you’ve risen.” Lady Rita Calhoun stands and glides across the room in a swirl of silks, embracing Barba before he can catch a glimpse of anyone else in the hall. She bestows a light kiss on each of his cheeks. “I heard rumors of your new position, and for once, I’m glad the gossip is true.”

Barba and the lady had studied together at university until she was summoned home to work with her father. Several years ago, he’d been surprised to hear that she’d accepted a position in a foreign court as an advisor.

“It’s gratifying to see you again, Rita,” he tells her. “I can’t begin to imagine what you’re doing here, or why you sent for me.”

She smiles. “It’s far too early for matters of state, Rafael. I simply wanted to have a drink with an old friend.”

Barba knows better than to believe anything can be simple where Lady Calhoun is involved, though he does admit it’s comforting to see her. He has spent the last several years tirelessly working his way up through the courts, beginning as a junior prosecutor for the crown and leading to where he is now, standing here with a councilor’s medallion hanging around his neck. Such a journey left little time for casual pursuits or meaningful friendships.

“I hope your journey here was not too stressful,” Barba comments as attendants file into the room with wine and platters of fruit and cheese.

Calhoun’s grin widens in delight. “We had the rare honor of being escorted by the 16th Cavalry. The tales do not do them justice. I was pleased to discover that they are even more impressive in person.”

Barba’s palms feel damp, and he folds them together behind his back. “I saw them in the procession.”

“I’ve become particularly fond of one soldier in particular, a strapping man who entertained me with his wit and intelligence during the journey.” She leans in, whispering conspiratorially. “Young, handsome, and literate. Precisely what I look for in a companion.”

Barba is about to agree when she steps aside and beckons to a tall man across the hall. In the space of a heartbeat, Barba’s world comes to a halt as he stares into the face of the man who has visited him in his dreams so often over the last two and a half years.

Though the fine details have changed, he would know this man anywhere. His lean, flowing frame has gained muscle through years of dedicated service. The gold on his midnight blue uniform is outmatched by the waves of fine silver in his hair. His lips are full and pink, and his eyes rival the hue of the summer sky. If such a thing were possible, he’s even more captivating now than he was the last time Barba laid eyes on him.

He feels himself being assessed in return and knows, with a sinking heart, that the conclusion will not be as favorable.

“Rafael.” The soldier’s soft voice brings Barba out of his trance. “I was on my way to see you, but—”

“But I stole him away,” Lady Calhoun interjects, an inquisitive gleam in her eyes. “I didn’t realize you knew Councilor Barba.”

“I knew him long before he gained that title,” the soldier replies fondly. Barba is fixated on the shape of his mouth when he speaks, until he notices the way Calhoun is watching his reactions, and silently curses himself for behaving like a besotted fool.

“Perhaps we should return to my office,” Barba suggests, aware of the curious stares they’ve drawn from the lady’s entourage, “and discuss this in private.”

“I’m afraid I must press for details.” Calhoun looks anything but apologetic. “The Rafael Barba I knew would never have made time for a soldier, even one so devastatingly handsome.”

Like gathering storm clouds, the soldier’s eyes dim, and Barba feels as if he’s been stabbed in the chest. He would do anything to chase those clouds away, desperate to see the sunshine he remembers from his dreams, even if it means letting Calhoun pry this secret from his lips.

“Then I must introduce you to the one exception,” Barba says, dropping his voice. With a sharp glance, Lady Calhoun sends her attendants scattering from the room, leaving only the three of them.

“Rafael…”

Barba appreciates the soldier’s attempt to stop him, but the unforeseen reunion has left him heartsick and reckless.

“Rita, allow me to formally introduce you to Dominick Carisi, my husband.”


	2. Chapter 2

"You didn’t have to tell her, Rafael,” Carisi says when the two of them are finally able to retreat to the relative safety of Barba’s official chambers. “I know how fiercely you protect your secrets.”

That’s the problem, Barba considers. Dominick Carisi, his absent husband, knows him too well. Their time apart was not enough for the soldier to forget Barba’s faults, his weaknesses, his dreams and desires.

“You’ve only just met her, but Rita is relentless,” Barba explains, circling the room until the desk stands between them. “She would have pressed until she was satisfied.”

Now that they’re alone, Barba is able to study Carisi without the hindrance of an audience. He was blinded by Carisi’s striking appearance in the guest hall, but now he sees the weariness in the soldier’s stance, the darkness beneath his eyes that speaks of sleepless nights on the road. Barba’s bedroom is close by, and the offer sits on the tip of his tongue before he remembers that such a thing would be too forward and unspeakably dangerous.

“I don’t mean to keep you. I’m sure you’re eager to rest after your journey.” His words come out in a rush, eyes lowered. “I’ve already sent instructions to have your home cleaned out and stocked.”

“Rafael—”

“I also sent word to Bella that you’ve returned.”

“Rafael, stop. Look at me, please.”

Helpless, Barba does as he’s bid and meets Carisi’s gaze. He’s not prepared for the warmth there, or the promise in his timid smile. Unlike Barba, who is scattered and nervous, Carisi looks happy to be here, content to watch the councilor shuffle around his chambers; he forgot how easy it was to simply _be_ around his husband. Barba has lived for so long without Carisi’s presence, without his companionship. That was their agreement, after all. Neither willing to step foot off the paths laid before them, Rafael to the courts and Dominick to a lengthy commission with the 16th. Their marriage, less than a year old when Carisi departed with the cavalry, seemed insignificant compared to their duties.

In all that time, Barba never wondered if he made a mistake until today, faced with the reality of what he gave up.

Carisi breaks the silence. “It’s good to see you.”

“I’m surprised to see you clean shaven,” Barba slips, saying the first thing that comes to his mind. He’s mortified to see Carisi blush.

“Rollins convinced me to shave it off,” Carisi explains, rubbing the now-smooth skin above his lip. “Told me it scared away the game when we were hunting.”

“Rollins?”

“A friend. I can start growing it back if that’s what you want.”

Barba stutters over the implication that Carisi cares for his opinion. “Please don’t,” he says quickly. “Is it strange of me to say that you look younger now than when you left?”

Carisi’s joyful grin lights up the room. “I don’t think it’s strange. You’re more handsome than ever.”

“Older, I think you mean to say.” Barba knows how he measures up. Where Carisi’s wheat-colored hair has turned silver, more regal than if he wore a crown, Barba’s darker locks are shot through with gray, and there are fine lines around his eyes and mouth. And where Carisi has lived a soldier’s life in the sun, Barba has enjoyed the shelter of the palace and the convenience of the kitchens.

“We’re both older, and I meant what I said, Rafael.”

Barba most certainly isn’t ready for _this_ : Carisi’s ever-gentle way of making Rafael feel like the sun around which he revolves. If that were true, he never would have left. It took Barba some time to admit it, but their marriage ended the day Carisi marched out with the 16th. Whatever remains between them is rooted in memory, not reality.

“Don’t,” he pleads, hating the fragility in his voice. “We can’t do this right now.”

Carisi takes several steps around the desk. “I’m home. Aren’t you happy?”

Before Rafael has a chance to confess that he doesn’t know what he’s feeling, his door opens and a blonde woman rushes into the room.

“Sonny!” Bella Carisi wraps her arms around her brother’s waist, laughing in delight. Barba flinches at her familiar use of Carisi’s nickname; he hasn’t heard it in what feels like an age. “I couldn’t believe it when I got Rafael’s message saying that you were home. I ran through the palace as soon as I could.”

Carisi pulls back to look down at his younger sister. “You’re here in the palace?”

“Rafael was able to get me a job as a seamstress and Tomas works with the blacksmith guild. We have rooms in the city. They’re small, but oh, Sonny! You should see them. It’s so much more than we had as kids. Plenty of room for a family.”

“A family?” Carisi asks, confused, and Barba watches the realization hit as Carisi looks down at Bella’s swollen belly. “You’re pregnant?”

“You’re going to be an uncle, Sonny!”

The siblings laugh together in joyous reunion, Carisi asking dozens of questions while Bella smiles and tries to share everything he has missed. Barba wonders if he’ll ever be granted the chance to do the same.

“You should have dinner with us tonight!” Bella exclaims, rounding on Barba before he can duck out of sight. “You, too, Rafael! I’ll have Tomas buy a good cut of meat.”

“Unfortunately, I have a reception to attend,” Barba says. He loves Bella—she’s the only one of Carisi’s three sisters that he gets along with—but he can’t handle such a family occasion right now. 

“I have to attend as well, Bella, but we’ll have dinner soon, alright?”

The news hits Barba in the chest like a hammer-blow.

Bella glances between them, frowning. “They need soldiers at palace reception?”

Carisi shrugs. “General Dodd’s orders.”

“Are you free right now?” Bella inquires.

“I’d barely stabled my horse before I was summoned into the palace,” Carisi says, “and I was hoping to have a few minutes with the councilor, here.”

Barba doesn’t know whether or not to encourage Carisi, fearing that more time alone with him would lead to confusion and panic. But Carisi is earnest, and the sight of him is a balm for the loneliness that has plagued him for so long.

Bella never gives him the chance to make up his mind. “You can see the councilor later, Sonny! Come on, we can go to your house and I’ll help you get ready for the reception.”

Carisi is too kind and generous to say no to his baby sister. No amount of time spent in the king’s perilous service could change that.

“Go,” Barba says, protecting himself from the inevitable disappointment. “Perhaps I’ll see you tonight.”

The soldier is no match for the seamstress, and Barba watches as Bella pulls him out of the room. The expression on Carisi’s face as he goes is indecipherable; Barba won’t allow himself to dwell on it, collapsing into his chair and contemplating his empty office. With some distress, he realizes that this was Carisi’s first time in the councilor’s chambers. 

Barba was still a prosecutor when Carisi marched out with the 16th. He worked in the halls of justice and lived with Carisi in a small house just beyond the city market. When he’d pictured their reunion, and he often did over the years, Barba had imagined a more intimate scene, certainly one that was less awkward than the stilted meeting that just took place.

Aware of his mistake, Barba wants to rush into the hallway, find Carisi, and start over again. Such a thing would not be dignified for a man in his position, however, and he restrains himself, choosing instead to distract his chaotic thoughts with a thick roll of documents one of the attendants had left.

He’s gone years without seeing Dominick Carisi. A few more hours should be nothing at all.

State receptions are another burden Barba could do without. He enjoys socialising and tasting every delicacy the kitchens have prepared, but he would rather do it without the imposed formality or the responsibility of measuring every word he says.

Councilor Abraham, the man in charge of arranging these elaborate parties, greets Barba on his way in.

“Don’t look so disappointed, Barba.” Abraham is draped in lavish gray fabric and heavy gold chains, every inch a man who enjoys taking advantage of his high position. Barba is a contrast in his favorite dark green cloak over elegantly cut black clothes, his medallion the only outward sign of his elevated position. “Tonight is important.”

“I’m well aware.”

“The king wants his guests from Hudson to feel welcome, their every need attended to, with the hope that tomorrow’s negotiations will begin smoothly and in our favor.”

“Fortunately, that’s your task tonight, not mine,” Barba reminds him.

“I’m reminding you to play nice with everyone, Barba, that’s all.”

Abraham slides away to greet the next guest before Barba can assure him that he knows how to do his job. He softens his scowl into a flat expression as he walks across the great hall, slipping between finely appointed tables piled high with sweet and savory delights and skirting the edge of the cleared floor where several dozen people are already dancing to the light music. He makes his way to the head of the room to find High Councilor Benson deep in discussion with none other than Lady Calhoun. The two women nod silently at one another as Barba steps up to them.

“Here I thought I’d have to send an attendant to drag you from your office,” Benson laughs. “Lady Calhoun was telling me of her business here in York.”

“I’ve already discussed it in part with Rafael,” Calhoun says, grinning dangerously. “We spoke earlier.”

Barba swallows down his panic. “Rita and I are old friends. She summoned me for a brief chat when she arrived in the palace. I assured her that there would be plenty of time to address formal matters after the reception.”

“See that there is,” Benson instructs, “and if you have any trouble, don’t hesitate to come to me. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

They watch her cross to King William’s table where another man, tall with finely-cut, graying hair, greets her with restrained affection.

Calhoun hums as if she’s devouring something particularly juicy. “Interesting…”

“Oh, stop. No more spying on people tonight.”

Her frown is put-on and playful. “You’ve always known how to ruin an evening. Now come, I need a break from my attendants. Lead me to your table so I can have some peace.”

An attendant is quick to add another chair to the lower table where the king’s council is seated. Barba nods at Tutuola on the right, grateful for empty seats to their left. Their cups are filled with sweet wine—not Barba’s preferred drink, but only a fool would turn down wine from the king’s cellar—as they select food from the plates in front of them.

He’s pleasantly taken by surprise when the lady doesn’t address what happened earlier. Instead, she directs Barba’s gaze to the table that hosts the visiting diplomats, sharing kernels of information about their temperaments and which of them truly has Duke Buchanan’s ear.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I can,” she admits, “and you might do something useful with the information. You know I’m not here to discuss _treaties_ ,” she adds, as if the idea offends her.

The noise in the great hall crescendos, and their eyes are drawn to the far doors where the king’s son, General Michael Dodds, has just appeared, flanked by a dozen members of the 16th Cavalry in their ceremonial uniforms. Fine, deep blue cloth that shines like velvet in the flickering candlelight, gold buttons that wink from across the room, and long, flowing cloaks that reveal their status.

Food turns to ash in Barba’s mouth. Not even the king’s delicacies compare to the sight of Dominick Carisi smiling in the warm light, dark clothes setting off the silver in his clean, wavy hair.

He quickly turns to Calhoun, but it’s too late. She’s seen his reaction.

“Don’t fret, Rafael. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Safe? Or held hostage?”

She sips her wine, enjoying his torment, before answering with unexpected candor. “When we were younger, I used to wonder what kind of person would catch your eye. I even thought it might be me, once, though that was long ago.”

“I was never one for courtship,” he says honestly. Barba certainly hadn’t been seeking romance when he met the soldier who would become his husband. “And you, Rita...you would have driven me mad before breaking my heart.”

The fondness in her gaze is a welcome sight. “I won’t betray you on this,” she promises with a toast. Around them, guests and attendants laugh and make merry as if tomorrow is none of their concern. “Though I don’t know why you keep this a secret, Rafael. Your soldier is _stunning_.”

Barba agrees as he watches Carisi move smoothly through the room, remaining at General Dodds’ side. He’s known Carisi long enough to recognize his joy and relief at being in the city again, grinning at familiar faces and shaking hands whenever the general stops to greet high-ranking guests. Though Barba was aware of Carisi’s regard for the young, handsome Prince of York, he never realized they were on familiar terms.

After nearly three years apart, there’s bound to be much Barba doesn’t know about the man he married.

A moment later, as the general passes the council’s table, Carisi looks over and meets Barba’s stare as if conscious of its weight at the center of his back. Barba isn’t sure whether to feel warmed or chilled. Either way, he’s bereft when Carisi turns his attention back to the prince and moves further away.


	3. Chapter 3

A horn cuts through the noise in the hall. At the high table, King William Dodds has risen to his feet, a cup in his hand. He smiles at the assembly and waits patiently until the music stops.

“A welcome to our esteemed guests,” the king calls out. “Here’s to the hope that your time here will prove beneficial to both of our great nations!”

The king drinks from his cup after toasting the diplomats from Hudson seated below. Beside Barba, Lady Calhoun smirks over the rim of her cup. A polite cheer follows the toast before King William raises his hand for silence once again.

“And a toast to the brave men and women of the 16th Cavalry,” he begins. “These extraordinary soldiers, under my son’s courageous leadership, have returned to us after rooting out the slave traders who have plagued our border for years. It’s an honor to have them amongst us tonight!”

This time, as the hall shakes with shouts and applause, it’s Barba hiding his displeasure behind his wine glass. After the king’s announcement, Carisi and his fellow soldiers, who are seated with the prince at his table, will be more popular than ever. Anyone who wasn’t fawning over them before will certainly take notice now, and Barba cannot bear to witness Carisi smiling so freely at strangers, or having favors bestowed upon him. He’s put in his time—no one will miss him if he sneaks out of the reception early.

Barba stands and bids goodnight to Lady Calhoun, who’s currently entertaining Tutuola with the tale of a hapless lord, before winding his way out of the hall. The music has started again, encouraging the guests to dance, and Barba takes the long way around to avoid the crowded floor.

He’s nearly out when he’s stopped by a gentle hand at his elbow.

“Going somewhere?” Carisi asks. He must have rushed the length of the room to make it to the door in time to stop him. “The night’s still young.”

Barba’s smile is tight. “I’m not much use at these receptions.”

“I find that hard to believe, but if you’re leaving, I’ll go with you.”

“Stay, Carisi. This is all for you,” Barba reminds him, gaze sweeping over those gathered in the hall.

“Then stay with me.” Carisi leans closer. “Do you want to dance?”

Barba draws back. “You know I don’t.”

“Right.” Carisi winks. “Not in public, anyway.” It’s familiar banter, playful, and it settles the ache in Barba’s chest. “Have a drink with me, then.”

Barba cannot refuse, nor does he want to. Carisi leads him away from the doors, his tall figure cutting a path through the crowd, to an empty bench far from the politics and gossip at the high table. All it takes is a few words to a passing attendant before two drinks are delivered, the cups containing a sweet liqueur Barba hasn’t tasted in years. His husband used to buy it when he wanted to celebrate.

“I went to the house,” Carisi says after a moment, tucking close on the bench to give them a sense of privacy. Barba finds himself on the end of more than one envious stare and feels a surge of pride that he quickly suppresses. The soldier beside him has eyes for no one else.

“And how did you find it?”

Carisi sighs. “Empty. You never told me that you left.”

“It was easier to live here at the palace,” he confesses, keeping his eyes lowered, unable to endure Carisi’s expression. Better to give a partial truth than admit he left because he could no longer face the reminders of Carisi’s absence. He’d accepted quarters in the palace the moment Benson offered.

“Will you come home now?”

Barba shakes his head. “All of my things are here.”

“That’s easy to fix.”

“Carisi—”

“Don’t call me that, Rafael.” The light in Carisi’s eyes is beginning to dim. “You used to call me Sonny.”

“I didn’t think it would be appropriate.” Sometime over the last few years, _Sonny_ reverted to _Carisi_ in Barba’s mind as the distance between them grew. _Sonny_ was a man who wanted flowers on their table and fresh pastries in the morning, a man who loved when Barba discussed the law, and who sat by his side and listened to him read long into the night. It was easier to think about _Carisi_ , the soldier who took his responsibilities seriously, and the man who left with the 16th because being a prosecutor’s husband apparently wasn’t enough.

“Why not? We’re still married.” 

He aches at the longing in Carisi’s voice. Years of duty had not robbed him of the virtue and confidence Barba had come to treasure. “Look around you,” he says. “You could have anything or anyone you want tonight. What am I compared to all of that?”

Carisi remains silent as he does what he’s told. Barba follows his gaze past the soldier’s many obvious admirers—men and women, both low and high-ranking—before it returns to meet his own.

“I know what I want.”

“Do you?” Barba doesn’t intend for the words to come out sharply, yet Carisi draws back as if wounded. “I only mean that we’ve both changed. We’ve missed so much.”

“We have time to make up for all of that,” Carisi insists.

Barba remains steadfast. “No one knows about us, Carisi. We kept our marriage a secret for a reason.”

“You told Lady Calhoun.”

“She won’t reveal anything, I have her word.”

“Things are different now, Rafael.” Carisi’s argument is cut short when the music changes to an even livelier tune and dancers begin to infringe on the space they’d claimed. “Can we go somewhere else?” He’s forced to lean in to be heard above the laughter. “If you won’t come home, can we at least go back to your room?”

“I don’t believe that’s a good idea.” Not with Carisi in that pristine uniform, beautiful beyond belief. Barba likes to imagine himself as a strong, resolute individual, but against Carisi’s charms, he’s perpetually helpless.

Carisi’s hopeful expression falters, and Barba wants to take back his words. Even if that means accepting the heartbreak that’s bound to come when his husband realizes that he could have so much more. Someone interrupts before he gets the chance.

“Carisi? What are you doing over here?” The man standing in front of them is also wearing the blue and gold uniform of the 16th. He’s several years older than Carisi, with thick, black hair and dark eyes that impatiently assess the scene before him. “The general has more introductions to make.”

“I’ll be right there, Amaro.”

“Don’t take too long,” Amaro warns with a roguish grin. “Dodds is using us to court favor with the nobles, and you don’t want to be left with the least desirable ones.”

Carisi scoffs as Amaro walks away. “He’s joking. General Dodds wouldn’t do that,” he says, although Barba is not as confident. He’s witnessed the games that unfold between the royal family and the nobles, the council included. “Will you stay?”

“No.” Barba softens his refusal with a light touch to Carisi’s arm. The fabric is just as luxurious as it appeared at first glance. “Perhaps you can join me for a meal tomorrow. If the general can spare you, that is.”

Only slightly appeased, Carisi nods. “Of course, but I wish you’d stay. There’s so much—”

“Go, before Amaro comes back and drags you off.” Which seems likely, as the other soldier stands waiting several meters away. 

“I’ll come and see you.”

Barba has no response as Carisi reaches out and squeezes his hand before following Amaro into the crowd. When he finally gathers himself and stands, he can see Carisi making his way towards the high table where the king’s son is surrounded by other members of the 16th and interested nobles. The rational part of Barba’s mind argues that he should stay to learn more about the prince’s plans now that he’s back in the city, especially if they include the cavalry, but his emotional side doesn’t want to see Carisi used as entertainment. Or worse, an enticement.

He leaves without looking back, ignoring the whisper in his mind that tells him he’s a coward.

Despite the heavy toll the day has taken, sleep does not come easily. Barba lies in his bed, eyes stuck on the ceiling, unable to rest. The weight of his husband’s return sits heavy on his chest.

He used to dream of Carisi’s homecoming. Even allowed himself to feel happy, but only within the confines of his imagination. The reality would be much different. The longer Carisi was gone, the more Barba began to fear that the soldier would realize his mistake. Barba half expected to receive a letter asking him to nullify their marriage while Carisi was still away, though in his heart he knew Carisi would never be so callous. 

No, he would come to Barba in person and ask kindly. He would insist that it was for the best, that they would both be better off. Barba knows it would only be true for one of them. Now that Carisi is home, it’s only a matter of time.

Barba closes his eyes, attempting to drive all thoughts of Carisi from his mind in an effort to sleep. It’s futile, of course; Carisi’s presence is as persistent in his mind as it is in the flesh.

The pounding at his door almost comes as a relief, forcing him out of bed and into the robe laid over one of his chairs. He expects to see an attendant when he opens the door, informing him of some urgent matter. Instead, he finds his husband leaning against the stone wall, a lopsided smile on his flushed face. Carisi’s pink cheeks look like they would be warm to the touch, and his cloak is draped over his arm, several buttons undone at his throat. He looks exquisite in the low torchlight.

“What are you doing here?”

Carisi leans forward. He smells of sweet wine and sweat. “Seeing you.”

Barba sighs. Glancing up and down the hallway, he’s relieved to find it empty. “You should go home, Carisi,” he suggests quietly. “Get some rest.” As long as Barba’s day has been, Carisi spent half of his in the saddle, alert and on duty.

The lopsided grin fades, pain reflected in Carisi’s shining eyes. “I can’t,” he admits, his voice strained. “I didn’t like being there alone.”

It’s so close to the way Barba felt about their empty home that he immediately sympathizes. He steadies Carisi’s slumping form with a hand on his shoulder and draws him into his rooms. “How did you find my quarters?” he asks as he ushers Carisi inside.

“Calhoun asked an attendant for me.” 

Of course she would meddle. That’s Barba’s punishment for not letting her tell anyone. She wouldn’t be afraid of what such a question would imply, either.

Once the door is shut, Carisi looks around, absorbing every detail through tired eyes. Barba’s quarters are generously sized, one large suite with a sitting area near the door and his bed positioned below the windows. Most of their belongings are here—the things Barba couldn’t bear to part with—and he watches Carisi pick out the green, woven blanket they bought together, now folded at the end of his bed. He blinks, swaying slightly, as if the image might dissolve in front of his eyes.

“You weren’t drunk when I left the reception,” Barba points out.

Carisi shakes his head and winces. “Wasn’t planning on having much, but I had to drink Rollins’ wine, too.”

_Rollins_. Barba is beginning to wonder about the significance of the name he keeps hearing. “Now why would you do that?”

“It’s a secret,” Carisi mumbles, shuffling in the direction of the bed. Barba is still too startled by his appearance at this late hour to stop him. “I swore I wouldn’t tell anyone. But you’re my _husband_ ,” he argues, seemingly with himself, “and I should be able to tell you anything.”

He looks so conflicted that Barba rushes to put him at ease. “You don’t have to tell me,” he says, trailing Carisi towards the bed.

“I don’t like secrets.” Barba senses that Carisi isn’t talking about Rollins anymore. This is dangerous territory, and they’re both too exhausted to navigate without harm.

“No more secrets tonight,” Barba says softly. “Come on, we both need to rest.” He could be making a mistake, but he won’t leave Carisi to seek a bunk in the military barracks if the idea of going home alone is so awful. 

Barba sits Carisi down at the edge of the bed and helps him strip off his outer layers, folding his cloak over the dressing table. The routine comes back to him as if no time has passed—so many nights when Barba would return home worn out and bleary from a long day of preparing for a trial, or the times Carisi came back from training sore and unable to keep his eyes open. They took care of one another, shared their burdens. Such consideration has been absent from Barba’s life for so long.

He soaks a cloth in cool water from the basin and presses it to Carisi’s face. “You can stay here tonight.”

Carisi leans into his touch. “Thank you, Rafael.”

“You’re welcome, Sonny.”

His husband’s smile is radiant in the low light from the flickering lamp beside the bed. Barba’s stomach swoops in unexpected joy at the sight. He isn’t thinking about tomorrow when he removes his robe and settles himself on the bed opposite Carisi. It’s easier than he expects to make himself comfortable with the heat of Carisi beside him, the sound of his deep, steady breaths in the quiet room. This time, sleep comes easily, carrying Barba away in its dark embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time...what will happen when Barba wakes up in the morning? And why has Rita Calhoun come all this way?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay! Writing time was at a premium, but I managed a slightly longer chapter to make up for it :) If you're still reading, THANK YOU.

In the morning, Barba isn’t surprised to wake up alone. Carisi had always been an early riser—his energy was a blessing from heaven—while Barba treasured his sleep, especially after festivities like last night’s reception. He is somewhat relieved that he doesn’t have to face his husband again this soon; what he really needs is time to think.

He _is_ surprised, however, to see Carisi’s ceremonial cloak over the chair where he left it, and to find a silver pot of coffee on his dining table along with a honeyed roll and a small piece of paper tied with a blue ribbon. The note, in Carisi’s sharp, angled handwriting, reads:

_Thank you for letting me stay, Rafael. I wanted to linger until you woke up, but I have something to take care of at the cottage today. Will I see you tonight?_

Barba succumbs to the flutter in his chest and seats himself at the table. The coffee is still warm, and when Barba tastes it, he’s delighted to find it strong with only a hint of milk and sugar. He enjoys breakfast at a leisurely pace, making notes on the parchment beside him.

Barba catches himself smiling as he dresses for the day, choosing a finely-woven grey shirt over darker breeches. He drapes his medallion around his neck and gathers his papers before making his way to the council room with the remaining half of the honeyed roll wrapped in a cloth.

As Benson briefs the members of the council on the day’s affairs, Barba’s thoughts drift back to Carisi. Surely the soldier would not have made such an effort to be kind, even in his absence, if he was planning to break Barba’s heart. He wonders if there’s a reason to hope after all. Last night showed Barba that he still _wants_ Carisi. Not just in his bed, although nearly three years of celibacy had driven Barba mad at times, but in all aspects of his life. 

With their marriage a secret, Barba hadn’t been able to attend palace receptions with Carisi beside him. Nor could they display their regard for one another in public, as so many could. All because Carisi’s parents wanted their only son to marry a rich landowner, someone who could secure their family’s future. Now, with Carisi’s status on the rise and the possibility of his own land in the future, perhaps Barba can make him see that he’s still a worthy choice.

When Barba arrives at his office, Carmen, the former attendant he’d hired to assist him after his appointment to the council, is waiting with a note from Lady Calhoun, letting him know that she’ll be down to meet with him shortly.

“Send for another pot of coffee,” he tells Carmen. “When Lady Calhoun arrives, we’re not to be disturbed for any reason.” She nods. Barba has no doubt she’ll keep other visitors away; even Benson won’t cross her when she’s been given a directive.

The Lady sweeps into his office a quarter of an hour later, minus anyone from her traveling party, and sits in the chair opposite Barba’s desk.

She takes in his appearance and smiles. “You look rested, Rafael. Is that from a good night’s sleep, I wonder, or a complete lack of it?”

“The former,” he says, keeping the circumstances to himself. She doesn’t need to know that he woke up in the middle of the night with Carisi tucked close to his chest, one arm thrown over Barba’s stomach. “Coffee?”

He’s just poured two cups when she reveals her motive for the meeting. “You have several prisoners in custody here, in the city, who were escorted from the border.”

“The slave traders?” Barba tries to remember what little information he’s received since yesterday. “What’s your interest in them?”

“One of them,” she clarifies. “A despicable young man who happens to be the nephew of our esteemed Duke.”

“Buchanan’s nephew?” Barba scoffs, amused. “Let me guess, Buchanan sent you to bargain for his release? Benson won’t like that.”

Calhoun sips delicately at her coffee before elaborating. “I’m not asking York to let the man go free. Merely that he be transferred to our custody so that he can face justice in Hudson. Your country isn’t the only one with victims who suffered,” she points out. The slave trade was a blight on both their nations, and Rafael has long suspected that the roots grew deep on both sides. “As for Benson, well, I have something to sweeten the deal.”

“And what’s that?”

“A trade. You give us the Duke’s nephew, and Hudson will turn over William Lewis.”

Barba’s breath catches. “You have him?”

“Lewis ran afoul of the law several months ago,” Calhoun explains, no doubt aware that she’s whet his appetite. “Our judges wanted to keep him in custody—he killed a woman in front of her daughter, Rafael—but I convinced them that a trade would be prudent.”

“You can assure your judges that if such a trade is made, Lewis will rot in a cell for the rest of his life,” Barba swears. He knows what the apprehension of Lewis would mean for Olivia Benson. The vile man had held her prisoner, torturing her, several years before she rose to a place on the council. Lewis’ subsequent escape haunted her, for good reason. “I’ll bring your proposal to her this afternoon,” he says, taking the papers from Calhoun. “I’m sure we can reach an agreement.”

Calhoun smiles. “Excellent! And now that we’ve concluded our official business, we can go back to discussing your _impressive_ husband.”

“Rita—”

“There’s a story there, and I’m desperate to hear it.”

“I have work,” he argues weakly.

“If anyone asks, I’ll tell them we were in negotiations all morning.”

Barba concedes. He yearns to talk to someone about Carisi, and Rita has always been more perceptive and honest than most.

Over another cup of coffee, he shares a story that few have ever heard. He’d first met Dominick—“please, call me Sonny”—Carisi, Jr. when the younger man had, quite literally, run into Barba in the judicial library while carrying several heavy books. When they’d both made it back to their feet, Carisi introduced himself and confessed that he’d snuck into the library to read. Against such earnestness (not to mention the man’s soft, pleading expression and wonderful blue eyes), Barba was defenseless. He’d agreed to let Carisi stay and read to his heart’s content in exchange for a meal. The way Carisi had smiled at the deal was devastating.

One meal turned into weekly rendezvous at the library followed by food and drinks at Carisi’s favorite tavern. Eventually, Carisi had offered to cook if Barba was willing to invite him to the small cottage he let at the edge of the city. That dinner led to a kiss, and the two of them had finally admitted what should have been plain from the start. Carisi was bold, inquisitive, and generously loving, a perfect fit for Barba’s restraint.

Marriage had never been something they discussed. Barba had his eyes on a more respectable position, hoping to secure their future, while Carisi continued to train with the city guard. They’d told no one, not even Carisi’s sisters; Barba feared the secrecy meant that their romance would burn out, or that Carisi would eventually succumb to his family’s aspirations. When he’d confessed his concerns, Carisi surprised him with a heartfelt proposal. Barba had been speechless for a moment, amusing Carisi to no end, but his answer was sure and given without hesitation.

“And yet you continued to keep it a secret?” Rita asks, drawing Barba from the memory of that perfect afternoon.

“It wasn’t long after we married that Carisi was offered a commission with the 16th,” Barba tells her. “He couldn’t turn that down.”

She narrows her gaze. “Did you want him to?”

“I—” Barba stops himself. Normally, he would say that he supported Carisi’s ambitions the same way his husband had encouraged his dedication. “I wish one of us had thought to compromise. He could have stayed on with the city guard and become a captain in a few years. I could have been content with the position I had, and let him rise. Instead, we stepped onto different paths, and now I’m afraid we’ll never meet on the same road again.”

Lady Calhoun is unexpectedly serious when she leans forward and meets Barba’s gaze. “The soldier I met on the road was intelligent and gracious. He was wonderful to look at, of course,” she teases, earning a chuckle from Barba’s lips, “but I enjoyed my conversations with him even more. He struck me as a man ready to settle into a different life.”

“He hasn’t said anything like that to me.”

“Have you given him a chance?”

Barba shakes his head. He’s been caught up in a whirlwind ever since the procession and the unforeseen arrival of the 16th Cavalry. “I thought if I gave him a chance, he would tell me that we made a mistake.”

“You aren’t giving him enough credit.”

“It’s been nearly three years, Rita,” Barba sighs. “I’m afraid that everything has changed.”

“The Rafael Barba I know wouldn’t be scared to pursue what he wanted,” Calhoun says as she rises to her feet and smooths down her exquisite dress. “Give him a chance.”

Taking her cue, he follows her to the door, surprised when she lays a supportive hand on his shoulder. “I’ll try.”

After delivering Lady Calhoun’s offer to High Councilor Benson and receiving assurances that a deal would be made, Barba decides to act on an idea that’s been simmering in his mind since he talked to Rita. Reminiscing on sweeter times reminded him of all the ways he and Carisi had made time for each other during their courtship.

Barba drops his papers back in his office and asks Carmen to send word to Calhoun regarding the prisoner exchange before leaving the palace and making his way to the market square. He browses the various stalls, selecting fresh bread, soft cheese, and a few sweet fruits he’s never tried on the vendor’s advice.

With his bounty in hand, he treads the familiar path through the streets until he comes to the modest, well-kept cottage—a place that holds some of his most treasured memories. The mint and rosemary have been left to grow wild in the little garden Carisi built, fat tomatoes in shades of red and yellow weighing down their vines. The cottage is small, yet it had been suitable for two men who didn’t care to have extra distance between them at home after their responsibilities kept them apart all day. Barba had purchased it as soon as he could afford to; it made sense, given how much time Carisi already spent there. For obvious reasons, he’d preferred it to the guard barracks where he’d lived since leaving his family’s home.

Barba composes himself before stepping up and applying a light, friendly knock on the door. It feels strange to do so when he owns the cottage, but he doesn’t wish to impose or make Carisi feel uncomfortable.

It’s not his husband who opens the door.

Standing on the threshold is a blonde woman in a simple tunic and pants who looks very familiar. It takes Barba a moment to place her as another member of the 16th; she’d attended last night’s reception.

“Forgive me,” he begins once the shock has passed, “I was expecting to see Dominick Carisi.”

Her expression shifts from suspicion to delight. “Oh! You must be Rafael. Sonny’s told me so much about you.” She steps aside. “Please, come in! It’s your home, after all.”

Walking into the cottage feels strange; Barba hasn’t set foot inside in nearly a year. He’s pleased to note that the cottage is clean, the floor swept, and that there are fresh linens on the bed he can see through the open doorway. Carisi, however, is nowhere to be found. Barba places the food on the table and turns to face the woman and her knowing grin.

“I’m Amanda, but everyone in the 16th calls me Rollins.”

 _Rollins_. Hearing the name, Barba swallows his uneasiness. This is the person for whom Carisi keeps secrets, the one who convinced him to go clean-shaven. Barba wonders how much Carisi has told her about the nature of their relationship. “Carisi mentioned you yesterday. Have you seen him?”

“He was here earlier, helping me get settled in.” She nods at the unfamiliar odds and ends—personal items—set around the room. “He went with Amaro to meet with the General _again_ ,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes. “He should be back soon. Do you want to wait with us?”

“Us?”

Amanda’s about to answer when she’s cut off by the appearance of a young child—a girl no more than four years old—from the back room. She’s a miniature version of Rollins with the same blonde hair and pale skin.

“This is my daughter, Jesse.” Amanda swings the child up on her hip. Jesse looks at Barba for a few seconds before shyly ducking away. “She’s been staying with my mother and sister while I was away, but this morning, when Sonny offered us this place…” She trails off, gazing fondly at her daughter. Barba knows what must be going through her mind, how difficult it was to be kept apart from someone you love for so long. Then, the rest of her explanation hits; the implication leaves Barba at a loss for words.

Clearly, Amanda is important to Carisi. Her presence in their home is proof enough of that fact. Now that Carisi knew Barba wasn’t living at the cottage, he clearly wasted no time inviting Amanda and her daughter to move in. Was she a lover? Is that why Carisi felt safe bringing her here? Barba doesn’t want to believe the worst, not after last night, but without Carisi there to tell him differently, his thoughts spiral.

Carisi, with his impeccable timing, chooses that moment to step through the door, already talking. “It was crazy to think Dodds would actually give us a break when we got back—”

The scene that greets Carisi brings him to a stammering halt. The three adults stare at one another, waiting for someone to break the silence. Like Amanda, Carisi is no longer wearing his uniform, dressed instead in dark blue trousers and a clean white shirt, though his cloak, made from a rougher material than the one he left in Barba’s rooms, is fastened at his shoulder with a small, gold shield.

“Rafael, I—I didn’t think you’d come by.”

Barba shrugs. “I found myself with extra time before my next appointment.” He nods towards the food on the table, feeling foolish. “I thought we might have lunch.”

Carisi’s expression softens for a moment before he realizes how awkward the situation is: Barba’s brow furrowed and Amanda looking between them with a smirk. Jesse, having squirmed out of her mother’s arms, is already eating one of the fruits.

“I can take Jesse out for a bit,” she offers.

“No, stay,” Carisi insists before Barba can say otherwise, “just give us a minute, alright?” He leads Barba into the far room and shuts the door softly. It occurs to Barba that they’re now standing alone in their former bedroom, and the realization is accompanied by a cascade of memories that are difficult to ignore.

Early nights spent learning what the other liked, exploring and gaining confidence each time. Carisi demonstrating his eager passion while Barba had fallen into the more controlled, yet no less ardent, role. Afternoons when they could sneak away, bringing each other to pleasure quickly and expertly so they wouldn’t be missed from their duties. Lazy mornings after they were married, consummating their love over and over until they could barely move.

Barba shakes them off and fixes his husband with a hard look. “Are you going to explain?”

“Sorry, it’s just...being here with you again, it makes me want…”

“Carisi—” There’s a part of him that is eager to know what Carisi’s thinking about, but that’s for another time.

He sighs. “Alright, I told Rollins she could stay here. I couldn’t let her live in the barracks, not when she’s been away from her daughter for so long!”

Carisi’s generosity is no surprise, but his answer doesn’t satisfy Barba. “So you decided to let her move in with you, play _family_ in our house?”

Two strong hands settle on Barba’s shoulders as Carisi steps into his space. “Of course not,” he says with a gentle voice. “You told me you wanted to live in the palace, remember?” He waits until Barba meets his eyes and nods before continuing, his hands slowly sliding towards the base of Barba’s neck, thumbs massaging bare skin beneath his collar. “I don’t want to live here without you, Rafael. If you’re in the palace, that’s where I want to be, and if you don’t want me there, then I suppose I’ll be shacking up in the barracks again.”

“Don’t do that,” Barba says hastily, the response coaxed out of him by the reassuring touch of Carisi’s hands. “I don’t know what comes next, Sonny, but please, don’t do that.”

It’s the truth—Barba’s life has been turned upside down in the span of a day. He wants to rush forward and pretend like no time has passed, but he knows that’s not the way to make this last. The flutter from earlier returns, and with it the nervous anticipation of being able to court his husband all over again.

Carisi seems to understand what he’s not saying. “Let’s start with supper tonight,” he offers. “I’ll tell you all about Amanda, and you can tell me what it’s like to finally sit on the King’s Council. Sound good?”

The idea sounds perfect, yet Barba can only nod as Carisi brings their foreheads together. Moments pass in comfortable silence. Barba soaks in Carisi’s calming presence and lets go of the tension that he’s held since Amanda opened the door. 

Eventually, Barba steps back. “I have to go. Benson and I are meeting with General Dodds about your prisoners.”

“That scum?” Carisi frowns, dropping his hands to his sides. Barba already misses his carefree expression. “What’s to discuss? They’ll be rotting in cells for the rest of their lives.”

“That’s something else we can discuss tonight.”

“Do you want me to come to your suite?” Barba sees through Carisi’s question. His suite in the palace means privacy, but it also means they’d be hiding the same way they used to.

“The kitchen could do without my demands for one night,” he teases. “There’s a small tavern just off the square that I’ve come to enjoy. Meet me there?”

“Looking forward to it.” The gleam in Carisi’s eyes is matched only by the brightness of his smile, and Barba knows he’s in trouble.

It takes another moment for Barba to find the strength to leave the cottage, and when he does, he glances back to find Carisi watching him from the doorway. He doesn’t know where tonight will lead, but Barba hopes the afternoon passes quickly and that Benson and General Dodds won’t be overly offended by his distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ideas? Things you'd like to see? Comments? All are welcome here, on [tumblr](https://hurricanekelleigh.tumblr.com/), or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/glitterstorm).


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize profusely for the break - it was unavoidable! Have an extra long Barisi-focused chapter, with an uptick in the story rating as a bonus :-)

The pendant is small and silver, strung on a black leather cord. Its simple design features a sun and a sword. Barba hasn’t worn it in years, but tonight he leaves his official medallion behind in his chambers and wears the necklace Carisi gave him on the day they married in secret. He keeps the same grey shirt and dark breeches, trading his fine cloak for a modest one made from a soft, sage green fabric. It may be early summer in York, but the evenings remain cool and dry.

As Barba winds his way through the streets towards the tavern, he lets all thoughts of work and duty fall away. Court reform, prisoner interrogations, the slave traders—he doesn’t want any of it infringing on his night.

When he gets to the tavern, Carisi is already there waiting for him at a small table opposite the low-burning fireplace. Barba pauses just inside the door and watches Carisi from a distance. He’s transported back to the first time they met like this; he’d been nervous and full of anticipation that night, but the conversation had come naturally. To his delight, Carisi proved himself to be smart and had enjoyed debating the finer points of the law with Barba. He’d also discovered that Carisi had been sneaking into the judicial library for months before they’d collided.

Shaking himself out of his memories, Barba approaches the table, brushing past Carisi with a soft touch to his shoulder.

“I apologize if I kept you waiting.”

“I’d wait all night if I had to, Rafael.” It’s said earnestly, and Barba can’t help but melt a bit.

Without his uniform—indeed, without any sign of his commission to attract attention—Carisi finally looks like _Sonny_ again, like a man meeting his lover rather than a soldier meeting his estranged husband. Firelight dances in those blue eyes when Carisi looks at Barba across the table. It would be so easy to fall in love with Sonny all over again if Barba thought for a moment that he’d ever fallen _out_.

They eat pheasant and lamb, sharing a loaf of fresh bread. Barba focuses more on Carisi than his food; he’s captivated by the joy and mirth on his husband’s face when he recounts stories about his friends. Amaro, Rollins, and Dodds are the three names that come up most often.

“Dodds?” Barba sets his cup down. The wine is light, yet he doesn’t wish to overindulge. “You’re talking about the General—our prince?”

Carisi is grinning, an enticing flush decorating his cheeks. “We’re friends. Good friends, actually,” he says when Barba prompts him to go on. After the banquet last night, Barba assumed they were merely acquaintances—a formal relationship between a soldier and his commander. “Out there, at the border, Dodds didn’t have to worry so much about the king’s agenda. He could be his own man, and in turn, we saw him as one of us.”

Barba lets that sink in. For years, he has put in countless hours of work, toiled over cases and reforms, trying to pull himself up into a position with even the smallest amount of influence. And here is Carisi, smiling unashamedly after casually informing Barba that the Prince of York is now one of his closest friends. It shouldn’t come as a surprise—Sonny Carisi has always been effortlessly charming.

“He...the General, he knows about you.”

Barba drops his knife. “Knows _what_ about me?” he asks in a low, tight voice before he can gather himself.

“That you’re my husband,” Carisi admits. “So does Rollins. I couldn’t keep something like that from my friends, Rafael.” He reaches across the table and sets his hand atop Barba’s trembling one. “It’s alright, they were happy for me. I’m not ashamed of us.”

A few hours ago, Barba was sitting in Benson’s office, the General standing beside her desk, as the three of them discussed the finer details of the upcoming prisoner exchange and criminal trials. Carisi’s revelation certainly explains the unreadable looks the General had given him throughout the meeting.

The brief waver in Carisi’s voice spurs Barba to speak. “I know you aren’t. It’s not about that, Sonny. I’m just not used to anyone knowing the truth,” he reassures, turning his hand over to thread his fingers through Carisi’s. That’s when he finally notices what Carisi is wearing: the gold signet ring that used to belong to Barba’s grandfather.

Carisi used to wear it on a chain beneath his city guard uniform since the ring on his finger would have been too conspicuous. The sight of it now, where it truly belongs, causes a swell of possessiveness to rise up in Barba’s chest. His grandfather was a minor noble, holding lands far to the south of the city, but Barba’s father had squandered much of his estate before he died. Selling the lands allowed Barba and his mother to live comfortable lives in the city, though he’d mourned the loss of his grandfather’s legacy. His ring, one of the few things that remained, had seemed like a fitting wedding gift, sealing the vows he made to Sonny.

“You really never told anyone?” Carisi asks, drawing Barba out of his thoughts.

Barba lets his smile drop. “Who would I tell? Councilor Benson? Tutuola? The king himself? We decided _together_ that it was best to keep our marriage a secret.”

“Maybe we made a mistake. Then you could have at least talked to my sisters while I was gone.” As soon as the words are out of Carisi’s mouth, they look at one another and laugh, easing the tension. “Right, so maybe Teresa and Gina would have driven you mad,” Carisi acknowledges, “but I know Bella likes you. She told me how much you helped her, and that means a lot to me, Rafael, especially with the baby coming.”

His blood begins to race as the realization settles over him. “Are you saying you want to tell your family? Despite what they wanted for you?”

Carisi leans across the table, food and wine forgotten. “I’m saying that my family should be proud of who I married. A brilliant councilor who doesn’t think twice about helping me or my sisters.”

It sounds like everything Barba has ever wanted to hear, and Carisi looks so happy, so _hopeful_ , that he wants to lean across the table and kiss his husband breathless. But he isn’t the same man he was when Carisi left; his needs and desires have shifted, and he’s not sure whether or not Carisi feels the same way.

Gently and in a quiet voice, he tells Carisi as much. “So much has changed in the last few years—”

“Don’t tell me we can’t do this, Rafael,” Carisi pleads, tightening his grip. “We haven’t changed that much.”

“I have.” Barba smiles kindly, knowing his next words could topple everything. “I think we know ourselves better now, Sonny, and I know that if we do this, if we tell people, I can’t let you go again. We’ve been married for almost four years, but I’ve barely spent a quarter of that with you. If the 16th is sent away, no matter how much we love each other, I don’t think I could handle it.”

“I won’t be going anywhere.” Carisi’s voice is light, his expression soft and full of wonderment.

“It’s your life, Sonny. Your commission means prominence and respect.”

“Some things are more important,” Carisi assures him with a lopsided grin, the fire casting him in flickering, golden light. “Resigning my commision wouldn’t be a hardship.”

“Even if it means giving up the land you’ve always wanted?”

Carisi’s laugh rings like a bell throughout the tavern, drawing several curious stares before the other patrons go back to minding their own business. Barba pulls his hand back, not used to being so open with his affections in public, yet the smile on Carisi’s face remains undimmed.

“You think I should take up farming, Rafael?” he jests.

“That’s not what I meant,” Barba mutters, though he can’t fight the half-smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I only wanted to say that you should consider it carefully.”

Carisi brushes that off with a wave of his hand. “Considered and dismissed. I’ve always enjoyed living in the city, and I know you do, too. Now, can we go back to the part where you mentioned loving me?” Barba’s cheeks are warm; he doubts it’s from the fireplace. “Did you mean that?”

Unable to trust his own voice, Barba nods. He intended to keep Carisi at a distance, at least until things between them had settled, though he knew it was to protect his own heart in the event Carisi didn’t want him anymore. But Carisi was never one to hide his feelings from Barba, and in the short time that he’s been back in the city, he’s shown that his love still runs deep. As deep as Barba’s own.

The way Carisi is looking at him now—one hunger satisfied, another rising to the surface—lays waste to even the purest of Barba’s intentions. He has ached for _years_ , remaining true to his vows, and no longer wishes to wait before having his husband back in his arms.

Gathering himself, Barba clears his throat. “Where are your things?”

Though Carisi certainly sees right through him, he plays along. “I had some sent to the cottage, some stashed hastily in the barracks when I arrived, before Lady Calhoun summoned me.”

“There is plenty of space in my quarters, and I believe you have yet to see them properly.” Barba pushes his plate away, no more room for food in his stomach alongside the anticipation. “Is there anything you need tonight?”

“Only my bag from the barracks,” Carisi answers, warmth in his eyes and wearing a soft, knowing smile.

Barba leaves coins for their meal and walks in-stride with Carisi for their return to the palace, half-listening as Carisi tells him another story. He fights the urge to tell each stranger they pass that this amazing man is his husband. Carisi would find it amusing, of course, but Barba is reluctant to shatter the delicate, intimate mood. It feels like they’re courting all over again, rushing off to explore each other in private.

They separate at the side gate with a lingering touch. Carisi turns towards the barracks while Barba crosses the small courtyard that leads to the council’s wing. He attempts to walk with a sense of decorum in the event he crosses paths with anyone, yet by the time he reaches his door, Barba is breathless from the mixture of nerves and excitement.

Inside, he unfastens his cloak and folds it over a chair. As he’s removing his boots, he wonders if he’s being presumptuous, until he recalls the confident stretch of Carisi’s smile at the tavern. They both knew where the night would lead. Barba lights the lamp on his table, casting a golden glow, and pulls out a bottle of wine he’s been saving. He can’t imagine a more fitting occasion to open it.

Standing alone in the middle of the room once his preparations are finished, Barba wills Carisi to hurry. Though he’s eager to spend time thoroughly learning about the man Carisi has become during their years apart—no longer an underappreciated soldier, but a man who’s come into his own—tonight is about reconnecting in a much more _tangible_ way.

Finally, he hears a quiet knock at the door. The words ‘come in’ are barely out of Barba’s mouth before Carisi is stepping into his quarters for the second time in as many nights. His eyes are bright and focused as he drops a leather saddlebag on the floor and crosses to Barba, whose arms are already open.

The embrace is overwhelming. Carisi is stronger now, his shoulders and thighs thicker than they used to be, yet he still fits perfectly against Barba’s chest, slotting back into the space he carved out for himself years ago. All Barba has to do is tilt his chin up before Carisi is leaning in to kiss him, stealing the scant amount of breath left in his lungs. Barba’s hands tangle in Carisi’s light cloak, hauling him as close as possible.

As the first kiss breaks, Carisi places his hands on either side of Barba’s face, gently cupping his jaw. His hair holds even more silver in the low light, its waves beginning to fall loosely around Carisi’s temples as the day reaches its end.

“When I thought about seeing you again, this was the moment I imagined,” he whispers against Barba’s lips. “Rushing towards you, probably embarrassing myself.”

Guilt hits Barba, the pain sharp. Instead of that warm, affectionate welcome his husband was longing for—or anything close to it—Barba had kept their greeting impersonal, almost cold, afraid of letting emotion get the better of him. Carisi deserved so much more…

“It’s okay, Rafael. I understand why you did it,” Carisi tells him before he can form an adequate apology. “It’s just us here, now.”

Barba is grateful that years spent in hard service to the crown haven’t robbed Carisi of his kind and unselfish heart. His spirit and generosity were always the balance to Barba’s efficiency and quick temper.

Carisi is still caressing his face when Barba pulls him in for a second kiss, surprised by how quickly his muscle memory returns. Barba’s tongue slips across the divide as soon as Carisi’s lips part to welcome it. Carisi’s chest pushes against his with each deep breath, Barba’s hands dropping lower to reacquaint himself with the shape of his husband’s hips, which had featured prominently in the innumerable dreams he’s had during their separation. 

Unwilling to sever the kiss, he blindly steers Carisi towards the bed, where eager hands begin the work of undressing one another. Barba hears the shiver of fabric as Carisi’s light cloak falls to the floor, shoulders and chest revealed to his heated gaze. Ravenous from being denied the sight of Carisi’s bare chest for so long—still lean, yet more defined than he remembers—Barba takes in the glorious sight before letting his fingers dance across warm skin. Every so often, the texture of Carisi’s skin changes, becomes thicker and raised, as Barba encounters the scars that come from facing countless threats on duty. He’ll insist on knowing the stories behind every single one, but that’s unimportant right now. Tonight, he touches each with delicate reverence, knowing instantly from Carisi’s reaction whether the tale is of little consequence or something more severe.

When Barba’s shirt joins the growing pile of clothing on the floor, he finds himself holding his breath, waiting to see what Carisi will say. He tilts his head to find Carisi gazing down at him softly; he’s not focused on the imperfections Barba sees in the mirror, but on the silver pendant strung around Barba’s neck. Innocently, he lifts it as if to confirm what he’s seeing.

“You still have it.”

“Of course. I stopped when you—” The truth is difficult for Barba to admit. “It hurt too much, Sonny. Wearing it reminded me how far away you were.”

Carisi’s lips on his feel like forgiveness; his palm pressing the pendant into the skin over Barba’s heart feels like a promise.

They fall back onto the bed wearing only their trousers, frantic hands fumbling with laces and buttons. Having Carisi naked against him is incredible, and Barba wonders if he has slipped and fallen into one of his perfect dreams, until Carisi reaches down and teases his length, sending waves of pleasure through his body and convincing him that this is real.

“What do you want?” Barba recognizes the breathless excitement in Carisi’s voice—the idea that he _can_ have everything he wants, yet not knowing where to begin.

Not that Barba is any more decisive. “Anything, Sonny. You being here is more than I imagined I would have again.”

Carisi’s brow falls. “You knew I wasn’t leaving forever.”

“I didn’t know we’d ever be _this_ again.”

“Raf—”

“We were young, Sonny.”

“It was only a few years, not a lifetime,” Carisi counters softly, his fingers smoothing the stress lines on Barba’s face.

“It felt like a lifetime for me,” Barba whispers.

Carisi’s expression loosens, a gleam in his eyes as the passion begins to glow once more. “I’ll just have to show you that nothing has changed,” he asserts, walking his fingers down Barba’s neck and across his chest. “That I want you as much now as the day I said my vows.”

Barba intends to say that it’s the same for him, that he’s never been so much as tempted by another in the intervening years, but he’s rendered speechless by Carisi lightly massaging one of his nipples, teasing across the tip with a fleeting touch. Clearly he hasn’t forgotten that Barba is especially sensitive there.

Time dissolves as they undulate against one another, bodies willing and aroused, no urgency in their movements. Carisi strokes Barba’s length with a sure, fluid grip, while Barba revels in a kiss that feels never-ending. On the one hand, he realizes that tonight is the first of many to come, and yet Barba wants so much. He aches to lose himself in his husband, give himself over instead of remaining in control, and Carisi responds to his silent cues, rolling his long body on top of Barba and straddling his hips. The awareness of being exposed and vulnerable is new for Barba, so used to leading their bedroom explorations, but the feeling is breathtaking.

“Long, lonely nights left me with a lot of time to think,” Carisi is saying, rocking his hips back and forth while holding Barba’s pleasure in the palm of his hand. “I’d close my eyes and picture myself in our bed, ready for you. Or touching you until you were ready for me.”

Both options sound like bliss to Barba, though he doesn’t imagine they’ll make it that far tonight. The fire is too close to the surface of his skin, and the tableau above him—new scars and all—only makes his desire more pronounced, throbbing in Carisi’s hand. Reaching out, Barba drops his hands on the top of Carisi’s thighs, testing the strong muscles and discovering that he loves the added weight above him.

He drags his thumbs inward, teasing the sensitive skin of Carisi’s inner thighs. The hitch in Carisi’s breath reassures Barba that this spot is as sensual as it used to be. Carisi is thick and straining between his legs; the sight has Barba craving all the things he’s dreamed about. Touching Carisi, tasting him, welcoming him inside. When he glances up and sees the same need in his husband’s shining eyes, he knows he’s not alone in this wanton desperation. This isn’t a lust that will be satisfied in one night. Barba won’t give Carisi up again. What that means for their marriage, their positions, is a problem for tomorrow.

Barba rocks up into the tunnel formed by Carisi’s fist. It will be worth the ache he’ll undoubtedly carry in his back come morning. His chest is full to bursting with love and want as he chants _Sonny_ over and over, more ragged each time.

The effect of hearing his name from Barba’s lips transforms Carisi from a creature of love—bestowing whispers of encouragement—to one of pure sin as he brings Barba to a shaking climax across his stomach. Barba is stunned by the force of his own release, falling back onto the bed and dragging Carisi down with him. Carisi rocks in his arms, sliding his length through the slick mess on Barba’s skin. His lips find Barba’s; the kiss is frantic and fierce as Carisi spends himself, adding to the mess between them.

Carisi collapses against him, chest heaving. Despite the mix of sweat and semen, his skin hot to the touch, Barba could remain in this moment indefinitely. His arms are locked around his husband’s back, unwilling to let go when Carisi attempts to shift away.

“You were always possessive afterwards,” Carisi huffs tiredly. Barba feels him smiling into the curve of his neck. “I promise I’ll return if you let me get up.”

Barba releases him reluctantly, but Carisi is true to his word, sliding back into bed once he’s cleaned their skin and brought a mug of cool water from the pitcher on the table to quench Barba’s thirst.

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” he adds as Barba sinks into post-coital warmth.

Barba should say something—though they were on the same page tonight, there are a host of challenges awaiting them when the sun rises—but the pull is too strong. He falls asleep in Carisi’s embrace for the first time in years, and his dreams are equally as sweet.

**Author's Note:**

> My first chaptered story, with updates planned every 3-5 days. The plan is for six chapters, nothing too lengthy!
> 
> Catch me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/glitterstorm) or [tumblr](https://hurricanekelleigh.tumblr.com/).


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